The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(65)

Trynne was still weary, but at least she’d managed a little sleep. Despite her dwindling reserves of magic, she was ready for a fight.

Dawn found them on the road. As Trynne rode alongside the Oath Maidens, she could sense the tension that hung in the air. They had trained to go to battle. Blackpool might be the first opportunity to face their enemies. There was excitement. There was also fear.

The small army from Averanche marched up the road. This was the army of Captain Staeli, a proven battle commander. His eyes were radiant with emotion. He looked eager for a fight, to prove the mettle of the women he had relentlessly trained and the men who had served under him so courageously.

Midmorning, a rider from the Espion arrived with news that the battle was still under way. Severn would not quit the field even though he was overmatched. His soldiers had fought hard all night long, refusing to quit. The field was littered was corpses, it was said, and the enemy had nearly encircled Severn’s forces. The town was occupied by Gahalatine’s army, but Severn would not quit the battlefield.

Trynne’s stomach roiled with worry as they rode hard toward Blackpool, trying desperately to arrive in time. When they crested the hill that spread down to the plains surrounding the city, Trynne could see the shore and the fleet in the harbor. She was reminded of the story of how Lady Evie had once set a trap for Eyric Argentine in that very place.

This battlefield was much larger.

It was clear to her from the vantage of the summit that this was a one-sided battle. Severn’s army was going to lose. She could see that more soldiers were still unloading from Gahalatine’s ships. There was a never-ending flood of them, like the surf that hammered the shore. The stains of death were everywhere. She could see the strewn bodies in the field below, the snapped battle standards, could hear the moans of the wounded and the dying.

Duke Severn was down to his last hundred men, if that. His army was surrounded, and she thought she could spy the old king in the thickest part of the fighting. He had no horse. None of them did.

Severn was trying to stem the tidal flood by himself and she thought she knew why. Before the Battle of Guilme, her father had confronted him about the men in silver masks—the Mandaryn, she now realized—who had been infiltrating Glosstyr. Surely Gahalatine had determined that this was a weak point of the realm. But Severn would not have it said that his duchy had been won through treachery. He would rather die than be remembered as a traitor.

“By the Fountain,” King Drew said hoarsely as his stallion rested next to hers, panting and lathered from the hard ride. “We’ve come too late. Too late!” There was a hard anger in his voice.

Trynne examined the battlefield. Even with the troops they’d brought, there were not enough of them to stem the advance. What would her father do in this situation?

She stared down at the fierce fighting, at the men of the White Boar surrounded by their enemies. Should they abandon their countrymen to their fate?

The thought struck her forcibly. No. The men had held their ground against impossible odds. Their king had come to rescue them. And even if they could not drive away Gahalatine’s forces, they could save the wounded survivors. She knew what her father would have done. He would have ridden down there to rescue Severn himself.

“My lord,” Trynne said, her voice choked with emotion. “By your leave, let me take my maidens into the fray. Raise your banners and wear the crown, and hold aloft your sword. Have the soldiers make a clamor on their shields. They do not know how many soldiers we have brought. Let’s give them a fright.”

Drew stared at her in surprise and then a grin brightened his face. “A deception.”

“A ruse, my lord,” she said, nodding. “It may not work.”

“But then again, it just may,” the king said, full of confidence. “Take your maidens. Go!”

Trynne nodded and quickly rode up to Captain Staeli. “Protect the king. I’m taking the maidens into battle.”

His expression told her what she already knew—her plan was risky, no, insane—but he was a soldier first and foremost. He obeyed. The look he gave her was full of worry. “Don’t be rash, lass. That’s all I will say.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “Are you worried about me, Captain?”

“Aye,” he answered like gravel. “And always will be.”



Trynne fed part of her magic into the stallion she rode, invoking the word of power that would banish fatigue and weariness. The ground thrummed with the noise of horses’ hooves as the host of Oath Maidens charged down the hill. The enemy had turned to face the onslaught of horses. Trynne saw rows of archers lining themselves up in front of the leaf-armored knights. They were disciplined and calm, row after row of steel and fletching and death. Trynne’s heart hammered in her ribs. Was this foolishness? How many of her sisters would fall? She dared not think on it.

A shout of command was given and the archers drew back their arrows, kneeling in the trampled grass, elbows pulled back, fists by their cheeks. The order was given and a hail of arrows arced skyward before plummeting like daggers. Before the first volley had fallen, a second was launched.

Trynne felt the magic of the Fountain sweep through her as the arrows began to land in the grass all around her, sticking like quills on a porcupine. She gritted her teeth, hearing the screams and cries of horses stumbling and falling.